Heart's Redemption
by ladyschicksal
Summary: AU HouseCam. Disillusioned NYC Medical Examiner Greg House finds himself drawn into an unusual homicide case. The victim’s sister, Allison Cameron, happens to be a link not only to his disgraceful past, but also, just maybe, to a brighter future.
1. Eva

**Disclaimer: I do not own House and co., but there are some original characters here.**

**A/N: And now for something completely different. It's rated M because the subject matter may get pretty gruesome, and because people will be swearing a lot more than usual. Sorry, but I'm taking a few liberties with the job of medical examiner, including some procedure and politics. This is eventually going to involve some supernatural elements, but at its core, this is a romance and a mystery. PLEASE R&R! **

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CHAPTER 1

Dr. Greg House parked his car, not caring that he was in a no parking zone. He knew he wouldn't get a ticket. Hell, he knew most of the cops around here—he'd worked with them all at some point or another. That didn't mean they all _liked_ him, but he couldn't help that, could he? With a huff, he threw open his car door and was momentarily blinded by the flashing police lights. House waited until his eyes adjusted, and then he limped to the back of his car, opened the trunk, and retrieved a bag of materials.

He took a quick peek around him, realizing that he was in a relatively quiet, residential neighborhood. Though the sight of three police cars zooming down a street was nothing new in New York City, the sight of three stopped on _this_ street was probably a unique experience. A few neighbors had trekked outside in their nightgowns and bathrobes, probably waiting for an arrest or even something morbid.

If House was here, then it was definitely going to be morbid. But after five years as a city medical examiner, he'd just about seen everything. All he hoped for right now was that it would not be a kid. Three in the morning was _not_ a great time for that. There was actually never a good time for a dead kid, but if there had to be, three in the morning was not it. He quickly rubbed his face, hoping to wipe away the residue of sleep.

Finally he approached an officer that he recognized. Though House worked as a medical examiner, his medical degree often led officers to seek him out when they had an…issue that they didn't want on their insurance. Or, in this officer's case, something he didn't want his wife to know about. At first, House had no desire to help anyone out; but he soon realized that the more secrets he knew about a person, the more likely he was to either disparage House less, or, in the best cases, leave him alone completely.

"Dr. House," the officer greeted. "Hope you're having a lovely evening."

"What have we got?" House asked, skipping the pleasantries. The officer was unfazed, however.

"Neighbors heard a scream. When the woman didn't answer her door, they called us. We show up, and find a dead body." He shrugged.

"Thanks for your help," House replied, his tiredness rendering him incapable of any niceties. Instead, the caustic tone of his voice only managed to piss the officer off.

"Fourth floor," he spat out. "There's no elevator, but that shouldn't be a problem. Oh, wait," he said, motioning to House's leg. "I completely forgot! You're a cripple! Too bad, but it can't be helped." He grinned, and House didn't like the malicious glint in his eye. He probably should have known what was coming next, but it still hit him like a punch in the stomach. "Be sure to say hi to Detective Tritter for me while you're up there."

"Tritter, you said?" House asked, his hand gripping his cane just a little more tightly. "He's working this case?"

"Sure he is! Oh, and House? If he decides to break any more of your fingers, ask him if he can do the pinky just for me." The officer laughed, and turned his back on House. House had to resist the urge to take his cane and shove it… He shook his head, trying to calm himself down. It wouldn't be a good idea to see Tritter while pissed off. The last time he did that, well, he ended up with three broken fingers. Most cops took House's crap because in the end, he did a good job and they caught the bad guy. Tritter, on the other hand, only saw the opportunity to break a spirit. House wouldn't be surprised to one day hear that Tritter had a secret basement filled with abused puppies. He was just that much of an ass.

House slowly made his way up to the apartment, often taking long breaks on the landings between flights of stairs. He was breathing heavily when he made it up to the fourth floor, and he wasn't sure that he could handle much more pain.

"I need a fucking assistant," he muttered, reaching for his Vicodin. Ever since he'd been fired from his old job, he hadn't had a doctor who was willing to prescribe him as much Vicodin as he actually needed. So, House being House, he usually found some through illegal channels. But it wouldn't do for Tritter to see him with his pills, so he quickly dry-swallowed two.

"Old habits die hard, don't they, Dr. House?" _Busted_. House quickly put the bottle back in his pocket, and turned to face Tritter. "Well, lucky for you, this patient is _already_ dead, so there's not much more harm that you can do."

"Oh, goody," House replied, suddenly feeling as if what little energy he had left was slowly being sucked out of him. "Where's the body?"

Tritter, annoyingly calm as always, merely motioned to the door. With a glare, House stormed by him and into the apartment. But he froze in his tracks when he saw the body.

"That body is missing a heart," he stated. "Cool." House slowly limped toward the body, staring at the huge hole in her chest. He was somewhat disheartened—no pun intended—to see the pretty, youthful face, even in death, contorted in fear and pain. "At least we have a pretty good idea of cause of death," he mumbled, mostly to himself.

"Can you tell us anything about what was used to remove the heart?" Tritter asked, squatting beside the body. House thought about that for a moment, staring at the torn skin.

"Well, it looks like she was still alive when she was cut open," he started, using his cane to lift the victim's sleeves. "I don't see any initial indication of bondage, so I would wonder if she'd been drugged. We'll have to do a tox screen." House frowned, leaning forward to inspect the offending wound a little more closely. "That's impossible," he said.

"What is?" Tritter asked, a smirk on his face.

"It's just… If I didn't know any better, I would say that it looked like the heart had been ripped out." He leaned even closer to the body, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Why?" Tritter took out a pen from his jacket pocket, and flipped open a small notebook.

"Because I've seen enough surgeries in my day to know what all those pesky veins and arteries would look like if they'd just been cut. Whatever happened here, it was unbelievably violent." House had to resist the urge to shudder. Imagining what this young woman had been through made him glad that he'd had a light dinner. Straightening himself, House started to look around the apartment.

As he would expect, it was relatively comfortable. There was a definite feminine touch, though. Clean.

"I'm assuming she lived alone," House said. Tritter was following him, as usual. House was never sure if it was because Tritter didn't trust House, which he didn't, or because he enjoyed listening to what House came up with. He imagined it would be an interesting mix of both.

"You'd be correct in that assumption." The two walked into the small kitchen, and Tritter waited patiently while House checked the sink, fridge, and dishwasher.

"No recently used utensils, so either the murderer took time to do the dishes after he drugged and killed her, or he drugged her using another method. Perhaps a syringe. If your guys happen upon a syringe, you'll let me know, right?" House couldn't help the edge that roughened his tone when he addressed Tritter directly.

"I'll be sure to do that, Dr. House."

They entered the bedroom. House had never been above breaking into a patient's home when he'd been at the hospital, but it was different when the patient was already dead. Any drugs, chemicals, or other possibly harmful materials that House could find here would never _save_ someone's life. They would only let House know how that person died.

He sighed, noticing the line of pictures on the dresser. Usually House would try to avoid anything that would give the dead body lying on the living room floor—the one that he would be cutting up later—any semblance of life, but he was drawn to the photos. Hesitantly, he picked up a frame. All the pictures were all of the woman in the living room and another woman who had to be her sister. The two women in the photo that House had picked up looked too similar for there to be any relation but that of siblings. They looked like they were in a park somewhere, eating a picnic. The woman in the living room had her arms around her sister, and the two were looking at each other, smiling. House frowned, feeling those first stirrings of guilt deep in his gut. These two sisters—they'd never see each other again. The picture was quickly placed back on the dresser.

"Pretty, no?" Tritter's voice brought House out of his temporary reverie.

"Which one?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well, now you know there's a sister you should probably be contacting," House said, clearly evading the original question. He turned to look at the bed, his gaze focusing on the bedside table. Suddenly impatient, House opened the top drawer, looking for anything useful. Nothing. Next drawer, the same. House huffed, and sat down on the bed. What he had overlooked, though, was a letter left on the table. There was a pen thrown next to it, still uncapped. He reached for the letter, and began to read.

_Allie,_

_I'm so sorry for what happened in the past. I know how difficult it was for you to lose Matthew, and I should never have pushed you like I did. But I hope you know that I did it only because I thought it was for the best. I never, ever, ever wanted to hurt you. _

_I need to see you, Allie. I can't explain why, but it's urgent. I have to_

And that's where it broke off.

"Interesting," House said.

"May I see?" Tritter asked, holding his hand out.

"Seems that the happy sisters weren't so happy." Tritter grunted in response. "I also wonder why she didn't just send an email."

"I didn't see a computer anywhere," Tritter offered.

"Still," House mused. "If she was so desperate to talk to her sister, then she could have borrowed a friend's computer. Or, she could have gone to the library. Or…"

"But it seems like she thought she was in trouble," Tritter interrupted.

"Well, considering she's dead and currently missing a heart, I'd say she had a good reason to think that."

"I'm going to try to get a hold of the sister," Tritter announced, completely ignoring House.

"Have fun!" House said, waving. "Don't come back too soon!"

"You're not going to have any trouble getting the body downstairs, are you, Dr. House? Because I think my men and I are going to be too busy to help you with that." Tritter smirked when House's glare turned murderous. "Maybe next time you'll try to be a bit more polite."

"Shit," House muttered, imagining the fun he was going to have dragging that body down the stairs. He knew that he shouldn't antagonize Tritter, but he just couldn't help it. Something about that man just pissed him off.

House sighed, resolving to search the rest of the bedroom before trying to haul the body downstairs. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Cameron? Cameron? Can you hear me?" Allison Cameron slowly opened her eyes, taking a moment to focus on the face in front of her.

"Dr. Wilson?" She sounded groggy. "What happened?" Cameron turned her head, noticing the crowd of people standing around her. Confused, she furrowed her brow and repeated her question.

"You fainted," he explained, helping her to sit up. Once Cameron was sitting, he sent a glare in the direction of the crowd, who immediately dispersed. "Actually, you screamed, and then you fainted," he whispered. In that moment, everything came back to Cameron.

Her sister. Eva. Screaming. She was… Tears started to gather in the corners of her eyes, and she felt her throat tighten. Unbeknownst to her, she'd started to breathe heavily, which worried Wilson.

"Whoa, whoa._Allison_," he said her name firmly, grabbing hold of both arms. "I need you to calm down. What happened?"

How was she supposed to tell him the truth?

"I-I don't know. I'm sorry. It's probably because I haven't eaten or slept much recently." Wilson grunted in response, helping her to stand.

"Well, if you work in a hospital, that happens sometimes. Especially after a long day dealing with a meningitis epidemic." He smiled. "But I'm going to have to insist that you go home and sleep. Better yet, let's get you something to eat first. I'll treat you to something from the vending machine."

"Oh, you don't have to," she stammered, much preferring to get home and call her sister. Maybe, just maybe, what she'd felt and seen was a mistake. Maybe Eva was still alive, and instead of dead, she was just injured. Deep down, Cameron knew that she was wrong. Eva was dead. There'd been that dream…

"I insist," Wilson repeated, smiling. Cameron couldn't help but smile back—Wilson was a charmer. She didn't know him too well, though. Occasionally the Immunology department crossed paths with the Oncology department, but not too often. Most of what she knew about Wilson came from gossip.

Three wives, multiple affairs? Yup, but those weren't as interesting as the reason why the third, and last, marriage ended. Word through the grapevine was that it ended after Wilson's best friend, and the hospital's most brilliant doctor, Greg House had been fired. No one knew for sure why House had been fired, but the facts surrounding his departure were damning in and of themselves. A patient had died, and House had been found passed out in his office, nearly dead after an overdose of Vicodin and, it was whispered, a fair amount of scotch. Two and two together makes a dangerous liability. But apparently Wilson hadn't taken it well. Not well at all. Matters were apparently only aggravated after House refused rehab and left, never to be seen nor heard from again.

"So, what would you like?" Wilson asked, dramatically motioning to the contents of the vending machine. "We have a wide variety on tonight's menu."

"Uh, how about a Milky Way?"

"Ooh, interesting choice. We'll have an orange juice, as well, _garçon_." He inserted several coins into the machine, pressed a few buttons, and waited patiently for their food. He repeated the process several times, until both he and Cameron were in possession of candy bars and orange juice.

"Thanks, Dr. Wilson," Cameron said, smiling. But it was a forced smile.

"What else is going on, Cameron?" he asked, suddenly serious.

"Nothing, I'm just worried about my sister. I have… a feeling that something bad happened to her." Cameron looked down at her candy bar, and ripped open the wrapper.

"What do…"

"Dr. Cameron!" A nurse was running towards them. "Dr. Cameron! There's a Detective Tritter on the phone for you. He says it's urgent; something about your sister." Cameron nodded, though Wilson saw all of the color drain from her face. For a moment he was worried she might faint again, and he even took a step closer to her, but she answered in a steady voice.

"I'll be right there. Thank you." She turned to look at Wilson. "Thank you, Wilson. I'll… I'll see you around, I guess." With that, Cameron started to walk away.

"Cameron?" Wilson called out. "If you need anything, please call." She didn't answer, but only nodded. After a hesitant wave, she turned away. Wilson stood there until she was out of sight.

He felt a sudden sense of dread, as if a ball had just been sent rolling, or as if a chapter had been finished. All he could think was: _something big is happening_.


	2. The Autopsy

**Disclaimer: Don't own House! **

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews guys. As it happens, I hate Tritter with a burning passion, and I did not have fun watching the show when he was on it. But, he does work well for this plot. He won't be around too much, though.**

**Please review! **

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CHAPTER 2

Cameron couldn't control the pounding of her heart as she walked up the steps to the police station. She knew that she would have to identify Eva's body, and see her sister for the last time. Never in a million years would she have guessed that this is how they would say goodbye. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and Cameron angrily wiped them away. It wasn't fair; Eva had been young and healthy.

But most of all, Cameron was upset because she never had the chance to say she was sorry. How could she have let things get this far? Why hadn't she been there for her twin sister?

For a moment her hand rested on the door handle as she hesitated to enter the police station. Then, with newfound strength, she threw open the door and strode inside purposefully. She wasn't going to let anyone see her pain; that was for sure. Especially not Detective Tritter. She hadn't liked his voice when they talked on the phone. There was something so casually cruel about it.

"Excuse me? My name is Dr. Allison Cameron, and I'm looking for Detective Tritter," she announced to the man who was manning, she assumed, the reception desk. He didn't say anything, but pointed behind her to the back of a tall man with short-cropped gray hair.

"Detective Tritter? Lady here to see you!" the man called out. Cameron shot him a nasty look, which he completely ignored. Tritter turned to face her, and she had to resist the urge to gasp aloud. There was something so unbelievably cold about the look on his face.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a flinty tone.

"I'm Dr. Allison Cameron. Eva Cameron's sister," she explained. "We spoke on the phone."

"Of course, Dr. Cameron. My name is Detective Michael Tritter," he said, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, Cameron shook his hand, desperately trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. "We need you to identify your sister's body, as you know. I can take you down to the morgue right now, and we can get that over and done with. Then I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's possible." Cameron extricated her hand from his grasp, and unconsciously wiped her palm against her pants.

"I think I can manage that," she announced. Tritter flashed her a grin, obnoxiously chewing his nicotine gum.

"Great, glad to hear it. Follow me, then."

* * *

House was blasting his iPod in his small office in the morgue, procrastinating on writing a report that should have been done yesterday. Instead, all he could do was stare at the personal belongings of Eva Cameron. In her pocket they'd found a small pendant with a silver chain, and a picture of her sister. The pendant was a simple pearl surrounded by small, House assumed, diamonds. It was somewhat odd; it reminded him of a sun, and yet the smooth, dull surface of the pearl reminded him of a full moon.

When he heard the door to the morgue swing open, he leaned over to peek through the window on his door to see who was coming in. The first face he saw was Tritter's. _Asshole_. The next face, however, took his breath away. He knew it had to be Eva Cameron's sister, if only because he'd seen pictures. She was beautiful, and yet, for a short second, House was disturbed because it almost seemed as if the corpse lying on a cold table in the morgue had suddenly come to life.

"Dr. House?" Tritter called out, clearly expecting House to find him, not the other way around. House was able to see the woman's reaction, and from the look on her face, he knew that she'd heard of him. _Fuck_, he thought. _I so don't want to deal with that right now._

"Coming!" he yelled, sticking the picture of the sister and the pendant in his coat pocket. He grabbed his cane and threw open the door of his office. The woman jumped and turned to gaze at him. For a moment, he stood there and let her look him over. She quickly took in the cane, the five o'clock shadow, and the bags under the eyes, but for some strange reason her gaze settled on something right above his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he took the chance to look her over._God, she's beautiful._ Even though it was clear that the news of her sister's death had taken a toll on her, House thought that she managed to wear melancholy well.

"This is Dr. Cameron, House. She works at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. I believe you've heard of the place," Tritter said with a ghoulish grin, amused by the clear interest the two expressed in each other.

"Dr. House," Cameron said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. House stared at her hand for a long moment, just until she started to become uncomfortable, and then he reached out and shook it. The feel of her small, smooth hand in his was electrifying, however, so he quickly took his hand back. He could feel, rather than see, Cameron frown.

"Would you please show Dr. Cameron her sister's body?" Tritter asked. Though his words were polite, House could never miss the tone of condescension. House nodded, and took note of the fact that Cameron practically rushed to his side at the first moment she could. Clearly Tritter hadn't made the best impression on her, either. There was a moment of hesitation on House's part when his hand reached the door handle that would reveal Eva's body. He looked down at Cameron, and when he saw her nod, almost imperceptible to most, he threw open the door. Slowly, he slid Eva's body out of its current resting place. A sheet covered her face, so House drew it back for Cameron to see.

Immediately Cameron whipped around and faced the wall. Her hand shot to her face and covered her mouth, and her other arm wrapped itself around her body. Tritter and House stood silently, listening to Cameron's harsh breathing.

"That's her," she said, her voice little above a whisper. "That's definitely her."

"You're sure?" Tritter asked out of habit.

"Absolutely," Cameron replied, her voice regaining some of its former strength. "No doubt about it." At that moment, Tritter's cell phone started to ring.

"Excuse me," he said, walking out the door. House turned to look at Cameron. He'd been in this situation hundreds of times; this one should be no different. But for a brief moment, he wished he could wrap his arms around her and comfort her. He wouldn't know how, of course, but the desire was there.

"I want to be here for the autopsy," Cameron announced, turning around and facing House. She wiped away the few tears that had flooded down her cheeks, but her eyes told him that she wasn't going to back down.

"You know I'm not allowed to do that," House replied.

"Since when did the rules stop you before?" She shot back. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated a response. Throwing his reputation so blatantly in his face took some courage, that's for sure. But his past wasn't something he wanted to remember, much less deal with. Yet this woman standing before him was intriguing; that he couldn't deny. In fact, the idea of spending just a little more time with her excited him, if only because he would get a chance to try and figure her out. Working mostly with dead bodies had robbed him of his opportunities to solve _real_ riddles like Allison Cameron.

"Okay. Come back at six." His response seemed to surprise her, which pleased him. But she nodded quickly, just as the door to the morgue swung open and Tritter entered once more.

"Dr. Cameron, if I could take you upstairs for a little while and ask you a few questions about your sister, that'd really help us out." Cameron looked up at House, raised an enigmatic eyebrow, and turned to Tritter.

"I'd be happy to, Detective." House lowered his gaze to the floor, smirking as he heard the hint of malice in her tone. If he had to go by first impressions, he would say that Allison Cameron was his kind of woman.

* * *

House watched as his wristwatch finally hit six o'clock. Three seconds later, Allison Cameron hesitantly opened the door to his office.

"Dr. House? May I come in?"

"You're late," he noted. Shocked, she looked at the clock on his wall.

"By about fifteen seconds," she countered, attempting, and failing, to hide the sudden amusement that she felt. So far House was living up to his reputation, though she knew she still had a lot to see.

"But still late," he repeated. Cameron could see there was no arguing with him, so she just shrugged in response. House grunted as he stood up, and he ignored the look of concern on Cameron's face. He rifled through the contents of his pocket until he found his bottle of Vicodin, and he ignored the look of disgust on Cameron's face as he dry swallowed a pill.

"You're going to choke one day," she warned.

"Or die of liver failure. Either way, it sucks, I'm sure. But both are preferable to living in constant _pain_, so I suggest you keep your admonishments to yourself, because I'm not going to stop." He placed the Vicodin next to the pendant, which was still hiding in his pocket.

"You_can't_ stop; there's a big difference," Cameron said, placing her hands on her hips and adopting a rather aggressive stance. Despite what her body was telling him, he saw the concern and caring in her eyes. _She just met me, and already she gives a crap about what happens to me? How pathetic. That sounds just like something Wi-…_ He shook his head to stop his train of thought before it went somewhere he didn't want to go.

"The moment you come up with another way to keep me pain-free, then we'll talk, okay? Now, do you want to cut open your dead sister or what?" He watched helplessly as Cameron flinched in response to his last words. _Dammit. I just can't keep my mouth shut_. But she recovered quickly.

"I'm ready whenever you are," she replied, her voice much softer than before. House hated that he'd done that to her, but it wouldn't do him any good to let her know that.

"Scrub up, then."

About ten minutes later, Cameron and House were ready to begin the autopsy. But the body was still covered, because House knew he should ask Cameron something first. He looked down at her and asked,

"Did Tritter tell you how she died?"

"Not exactly. He just said it was violent." Her eyes were suddenly very apprehensive. House smiled grimly.

"Well, he certainly didn't lie."

"What happened?" Unconsciously, Cameron stepped away from the table.

"Her… heart was removed from her body." House watched Cameron blink furiously as she tried to process that information. Then, without warning, Cameron reached forward and pulled off the sheet that covered her sister's body. Surprisingly polite, House turned away as Cameron ran to the nearest garbage can and emptied the contents of her stomach. He was used to that. "You didn't each much today, did you?"

"No," Cameron groaned, spitting into the garbage can. "I didn't."

"Well, if you pass out on me during this, I'm just going to draw mustaches on your face with a permanent marker and then lock you in one of these fridges here," he warned.

"From what I hear, I should take you seriously," she replied, finally standing up. House nodded towards a sink in the corner, which, thoughtfully, had both a bottle of mouthwash and a tin of mints placed on the side. Cameron smiled gratefully, and walked towards the sink.

"Don't think that I didn't notice you try to deflect the conversation to something about me!" he called out, staring down at the troubled face of Cameron's sister.

"Can you blame me?" House could hear the water of the sink running as he reached for a scalpel. "I've heard so much about you, and I have to wonder what is true."

"The part about the huge, well, _you know_? That's completely true."

"I'm sure," she whispered mostly to herself, rolling her eyes. "What about drinking the blood of newborn babies to wash down handfuls of Vicodin so that you can better use your psychic powers to manipulate Cuddy into letting you do whatever you want?" House couldn't help but grin.

"That's ridiculous! I never needed to use any psychic powers to manipulate Cuddy! I can't believe people would slander me in such a way." For a moment, House was amused, remembering numerous of his antics back in Princeton. But then the smile fell from his face as he recalled the last time he'd spoken to Cuddy.

* * *

"_House, I'm sorry, but you've left me no choice." She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, silently urging him to face her. House sighed and covered his hands with his face. His whole life had gone down the drain: first the infarction happened, then Stacy left, and now this. _

"_I'm in _pain_, Cuddy. Why doesn't anyone believe me?"_

"_It's not that we don't think you're in pain, it's that we know that that's not the only reason why you're taking Vicodin. You're a brilliant doctor, House, and you know I respect you. But I can't let any more people die because you're too stubborn to admit that you have a problem." When House didn't face her, Cuddy stepped in front of him, and pulled his hands away from his face. He looked into her eyes and saw the regret that she'd been trying so hard to hide while they were all at the hospital. "I'm sorry," she repeated._

_Unexpectedly, House violently shoved her to the side. Cuddy was slammed against the wall, and the look in her eyes quickly turned to fear._

"_Get out of here!" he yelled. "I don't want your pity! I want you to let me do my job! I want my Vicodin!" House stood there, panting heavily as Cuddy slowly reached for her purse on his living room couch, eyeing him the entire time as if he was a dangerous predator. "Get out!" he screamed, reaching for the empty bottle of scotch on his piano and throwing it against the wall. Cuddy flinched as the glass shattered, instinctively covering her face._

_Without another word, she left, leaving House alone. With some of his energy gone, House reached for his blinking answering machine and ripped it out of its socket. With the same violence, House threw it at the door._

"_Tell Wilson to stop calling me!" He wasn't sure if Cuddy heard him, but it didn't matter anymore. _

* * *

"How is Cuddy doing?" House asked, his voice much quieter and his teasing tone replaced by something much more introspective. Cameron picked up on this, and, not wishing to pry, answered simply,

"Fine, I think. Busy as always."

"Of course," House replied, mostly to himself.

"Anyone else you're curious about?" They both knew whom she was referring to specifically.

"Nope. Not anyone that I can think of, anyway. Let's get started, shall we? Unless, of course, you need to go puke some more."

"Do most woman find you charming, or is it more along the lines of, say, sociopathic?"

"Oh, you have no idea. I'm a total hit."

"Among desperate prostitutes?"

"Come now, I won't let you demean working women like that." House affected righteous indignation, much to the amusement of Cameron. She grinned at him, and House realized that for the first time in a long time, he was enjoying the company of another person. _Go figure_, he thought. _Who knew that morgues were the best places to pick up women?_

"Scalpel, nurse?" he asked, dramatically mimicking a medical television show. Cameron raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his hand. "Right! I already have one. Boy, am I glad you're here." Though they'd kept up this stream of banter, Cameron had yet to look at the body of her sister. Now that they were actually beginning to work, Cameron felt her stomach begin to churn once more. "Stay with me, Cameron. Tell me about her wound. What do you notice?"

Cameron had forgotten that House, though he pretended to hate it, had been something of a teacher.

"Well, it doesn't look like a clean cut," she started, feeling herself switch into doctor mode. House nodded encouragingly as he started to make a long cut in the body's chest. "It's…" she trailed off, and looked up at House, uncertain.

"Say it," he encouraged.

"It looks as if someone just reached inside her chest and ripped out her heart. Everything is torn apart." For a moment, the room started to spin as she pondered just how her sister may have died. "But it's impossible," she said. "Impossible."

"That's exactly what I said," House agreed. "Can you hand me the chest spreader?" Cameron nodded, though House wasn't looking at her, and reached for the chest spreader. "What else?"

"Did you do a tox screen?" she asked, handing him the spreader.

"On my desk," he answered. Cameron, eager to avoid watching House spread open her sister's chest, went to his office and grabbed a file marked "Cameron, Eva." She flipped through it as he worked.

"There's nothing?" she exclaimed. House smiled bitterly at the incredulous tone of her voice.

"Again, exactly what I said." Cameron rushed next to House's side, getting in his way as she reached for her sister's wrists and ankles.

"But there are no marks. How could someone have removed her heart if she wasn't drugged or if she wasn't bound? Eva never would have… I mean, she would have fought. The only reason why she wouldn't have would be if…" She found House looking at her expectantly after she trailed off. Having House's full attention focused on you was not an altogether pleasant experience.

"Would you like to continue, Dr. Cameron?" he asked, though his tone of voice made it clear that it wasn't a polite invitation.

"Oh, no, I forgot what I was going to say." She lowered her gaze to the floor, still aware of House's eyes on her. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Cameron felt a strong pull towards House. It was with some surprise that she realized she was attracted to him. There was a tense moment of silence as House tried to decide whether or not to push her further. When he didn't say anything else, Cameron was relieved. She'd just had her first clue as to what happened to her sister, but she also knew she couldn't tell House. At least, not yet.

"What else?" House asked, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. "We need more theories." With House's prodding, Cameron managed to get through the rest of the autopsy without any more problems. In fact, in any other situation, she might have enjoyed the experience of working with him. He pushed her, and made her think creatively. There was no one at Princeton who'd done that. But, in the end, they were no closer to figuring out exactly what had happened to Eva.

Frustrated, House threw his medical gloves into a nearby trashcan. He hated to leave things unfinished. Silently he watched Cameron as she slowly removed her gloves.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. Cameron gave him a look.

"You mean, after autopsying my sister?" Though there was amusement on the surface of that remark, House couldn't miss the sadness hidden deep within her tone.

"Well,_I'm _hungry. _I'm_ going to go get some food." This time, Cameron actually smiled.

"Are you inviting me along?" She was teasing him, but not enough so that he felt uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how she was able to handle him so expertly after only a few hours with him.

"Yeah, I guess I was. At least, I was trying to."

"Like a date?" Again, she was trying to keep things light, but he knew it was a serious question.

"Sure, except for the date part." Cameron eyed him warily, unsure of his intentions. But she quickly made up her mind.

"I'll probably faint if I don't eat soon," she reasoned. "So, why not?"

"Good," he said. "I'm going to go grab my coat." After he put on his coat, he reached into his pockets to find his keys. As he fumbled for his keys, his fingers grazed the pendant. "Oh," he whispered. Catching Cameron's eye, he motioned for her to come to him and he wordlessly held out her sister's pendant. Immediately tears began to form in her eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks. House couldn't deal with that, so he roughly thrust the pendant into her hand and walked towards the door.

When he didn't hear her follow him, he turned around and saw her desperately trying to put the necklace on, but her hands were too shaky to fasten the clasp in the back.

"Let me," he grumbled, rolling his eyes and returning to her side.

"Thanks," she said. House heard her sniffle as she pulled her hair away from her neck. His sudden close proximity to Cameron made his head swim a bit—she smelled like lavender and something else, something much more indefinable—so it took a try or two before he finally managed to fasten the clasp.

"There," he whispered, the knuckles of his hand lightly grazing the back of her neck. He was too distracted to notice the goosebumps rise on her skin, or the sudden erratic breathing on her part. Slowly, she let her hair fall once more.

"Ready?" she queried, turning around. _No? _he thought, staring into her eyes. Her eyes told him the same thing. _But we're running with this, aren't we?_ she seemed to question.

"Sure," he replied. "Let's go."


	3. Help

**Disclaimer: I don't own House!**

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. Things are super busy right now. When we (finally) get to January, it'll be updates all the time. So, a little bit of Cameron's secret comes out in this chapter, though, as you'll see, it still needs some explanation... **

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Cameron smiled as she watched House try to remove a pickle from his plate. The look of horror on his face when the waitress had placed his Reuben in front of him and he saw that a _pickle_ had encroached on his territory had sent Cameron into near hysterics. She needed to laugh, and House seemed to understand that, so he only shot her a withering stare in response. Now he was using a fork to try to remove the offending object, but he didn't seem to want his fork to be tainted by the foul pickle. Cameron rolled her eyes, reached over, grabbed the pickle, and took a bite.

"Nice," he said. The two ate in silence for a few minutes, each uncertain of what to say.

"I'm glad you talked me into the veggie burger," Cameron acknowledged, pouring a generous amount of ketchup onto her fries.

"That'll teach you to try to eat _salad_ at a New York diner. And this way, you're still getting your vegetables, so you don't have to worry about ruining your perfect figure," House responded. The sarcasm in his voice was hard to miss, but Cameron couldn't help but tease House.

"So, you think I have a perfect figure?" House froze in the middle of taking a bite. For a split second he looked flustered, but he quickly recovered.

"If I say yes, will it be easier to get into your pants, or are you one of those girls that gets off on being demeaned? I can do either, honestly."

"Ooh, deflection! Nice one. You know, you could have just said yes. I wouldn't have held it against you," Cameron told him. She flashed him an impish grin, and felt a small satisfaction as he lowered his gaze to his lap, struggling to hide a smile of his own.

"What do you do at the hospital, anyway?" he asked.

"I work in the Immunology department."

"Under Solomon?" House was clearly not a fan.

"Unfortunately." Cameron wasn't either.

"So, he's still an incompetent ass?" He took a huge bite of his Reuben.

"Definitely. Also an ass who can't keep his hands to himself," Cameron grumbled. House choked on his sandwich, and she waited patiently as he finished coughing.

"He touched you? I knew I should have punched him out when I had the chance. If only Wilson hadn't…" he trailed off, frowning. As House drifted off, Cameron wondered whether or not to say something.

"As it happens, I put him in his place very quickly. But your chivalry is very appreciated," she teased. But House didn't acknowledge her statement beyond a half-hearted grunt. Sighing, she put her sandwich down. "Wilson worries about you." House's eyes shot to hers, and she was surprised to see such naked pain in his gaze.

"I don't care about Wilson!" he shouted. After a few diners turned to look at the couple, House lowered his voice. "He betrayed me; he doesn't get to worry about me."

"I'm sorry, I don't really know what happened. I've only heard rumors," Cameron explained. "I just thought you might want to know." House sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. His sandwich sat forgotten on his plate.

"About three years ago, I had a patient named Jeffrey Eliot. You know, a young guy, married with four kids. He'd been referred to me from Seattle. Anyway, I diagnose him, but somehow he gets the wrong medication and… that was the end of our buddy Jeff. Every doctor makes a mistake, but both Cuddy _and_ Wilson voted to fire me. That's why I'm here, bored out of my mind and pissed off like all Hell." Cameron's eyes narrowed after House finished his story.

"That's not the whole story, House. I'm not an idiot. Even if I hadn't heard rumors that contradict your tall tale, I still wouldn't be an idiot. Somehow I think that you'd have bothered to give me the names of the medications if, for instance, you could _remember_ them. But you can't, can you? You never took a look at his file after everything was said and done. You didn't want to know what went wrong. Why is that, House? I'm guessing it has something to do with the pills rattling in your pocket. I'm guessing that it's not as simple as 'Cuddy and Wilson voted to fire me.' I'm guessing it has something more to do with 'Cuddy and Wilson voted to fire me after they'd done everything else possible, and I was just too stubborn of an ass to get any help for my addiction.' Am I getting closer to the truth?"

"I was in _pain_," House started, not bothering to deny any of her claims.

"Yeah, yeah. You still are. I get it, I get it. But you can't blame Wilson for caring. He was devastated after you disappeared. Apparently even his wife left him."

"Well, that's not a surprise. You know she was number twelve for him."

"All I'm saying is…"

"Why do you even care?" House interrupted. He leaned forward, holding Cameron's gaze. She didn't even hesitate, though.

"Because I can see the burdens you carry. I know you feel guilty about your patient. I even know that you feel guilty about running away from Wilson. But you're just too stubborn, House. You're too stubborn to admit that you may have made a mistake. You're too stubborn to admit you might need some help." Cameron leaned forward as she spoke. Their faces were a few inches away from each other's.

"Can I get you two anything else?" the waitress asked, not caring that she was interrupting a tense moment.

"No thanks," House growled. "Just the check." The waitress glared at the rude man, and slapped their check down on the table. House hadn't looked away from Cameron the entire time. "How would you know that I feel guilty?"

"I just can."

"What, are you psychic?" Though House had meant his question as a joke, the look on Cameron's face told him that she took it seriously. "Wait, what?" House asked, clearly confused and intrigued. "You've got to be kidding me. You don't actually believe…"

"As a matter of fact, I am and I do. Well, it's not that clear cut. I…see things. Feel things." Cameron wasn't sure why she decided to tell House of all people. House, who'd she met only a few hours earlier; House, a drug-addicted misanthrope. Not the smartest idea she'd ever had, but something instinctive told her she could trust him. Well, that and the fact that she was going to need his help figuring out what happened to Eva.

"Prove it," he challenged her.

"All right." She looked over his shoulder once more, like she had in the morgue. "Do you remember what Jeffrey Eliot looked like?" House nodded. "Dark, dark brown hair? He's kind of tall, but not as tall as you. He has the most amazing green eyes I've seen. I don't think I've ever seen anyone with eyes that color before. He…" she trailed off for a moment, quirking her head to the side. "He has a tattoo on his wrist. It looks like… initials?" House felt the world close in on him as she continued to describe the man that still haunted his dreams.

"You probably could have gotten all of that out of a file in the hospital," House scoffed, though he began to feel somewhat uneasy. She'd been describing him as if he'd been standing in front of her. Suddenly House had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder.

"I could have," she agreed. "I'm not into breaking and entering, like you apparently were, but it would be a distant possibility." Cameron sat silently for a moment, nodding. "You administered the medicine yourself. Heparin? Why'd you give him heparin? Wasn't he allergic?"

"That was the mistake," House replied softly, looking to the side as memories started coming back to him. "I don't know… I can't remember why… But I gave him too much. There wasn't enough time to… I was…" He stared at Cameron. "How did you…"

"He's sitting behind you." This time, House's head whipped to the side, straining to look at the booth behind him.

"I don't see anyone."

"He's there, trust me. Sometimes, after a person dies, they stick around. I don't know why. I'm guessing he's still around because you won't let him go." Cameron spoke softly, trying to gauge House's reaction to what she was saying.

"Oh, I don't think that's true. He's quite free to leave at any time," House replied, the edge to his tone giving Cameron cause for concern.

"No, that's not how it works. Because he died, your whole life fell apart, though you're refusing to acknowledge it. Until you accept that you have a problem and that it's time to turn your life around, he's going to be here." Cameron impulsively reached across the table and placed her hand over his. His hand was much larger than hers, but she splayed her fingers wide. Absently she realized that he had a pianist's hands.

"Aren't you supposed to at least wait until the second date before you try to change me?" House asked.

"I thought this wasn't a date," Cameron reminded him.

"Exactly," he replied, removing his hand.

"Listen, I'm going to need your help finding out what happened to Eva. With your position, you can go places and ask questions that I can't. But I'm trying to help you understand a few things. Eva and I… we were close. We were closer than most because we hid each other's secrets."

"Like the fact that you see dead people?"

"Like the fact that I see dead people," Cameron agreed, smiling despite herself. "Eva is…was psychokinetic."

House leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He studied Cameron carefully, obviously trying to decide whether or not he should believe her. Cameron fidgeted slightly in her seat, worried that without House, she wouldn't be able to figure out what happened to Eva. Well, that, and the growing feeling that she cared about what he thought about her.

"I don't believe you," he said finally. "I'm just trying to figure out why you're lying to me. Are you trying to blackmail me into helping you? Because I gotta tell you that that doesn't work with me."

"Everybody lies," Cameron whispered, still staring over his shoulder.

"What?" House barked.

" Everybody lies, Jeff. If you haven't figured that out by now, you probably will. At least, you'll have to when you finally catch your wife banging your best friend. Come on, I've seen that guy, and, let me tell you, he is _hot_. They are definitely fucking. When you get out of here, I would probably get a paternity test for the youngest spawn. Definitely not yours.' Oh, House, he was dying. Why would you tell him that?" Cameron's eyes found House's and her disappointment was evident. She looked defeated; she had a feeling that there was no way he was going to help her.

"No one else heard me say that," House said, looking down at his abandoned sandwich. He paused, the memory flooding back to him. "I told him that when I was administering the…the heparin, I guess. I was pissed off, I was…" he shrugged, and rubbed his face absently.

"You had no self-control?"

"Still don't, thanks," House replied, banging his fist softly against the table. Cameron sighed. "So, if you see this guy, then where are my grandparents? My pet goldfish?"

"They had no reason to stay, I'm assuming. Ghosts don't stick around for fun; if they're here, it's usually because something bad happened."

"What about you? Anyone following you?" Cameron froze in place, though her eyes flicked quickly to the left. "I'll take that as a yes."

"My husband," she whispered, as if he was in the next booth. "I'm almost used to it by this point." House raised an eyebrow. "He died of cancer almost ten years ago."

"You married young," he noted. Cameron smiled grimly.

"Too young and yet too late. He died six months into our marriage." House watched as her face darkened and her shoulders inched towards her ears. If Jeff Eliot was his burden, Cameron's husband was certainly hers.

"Why is he sticking around, then?"

"I don't know, but I wish I did." She sounded desperate.

"And here I thought 'until death do us part' meant something completely different."

"So, are you just trying to jerk me around, or do you actually believe me?" Cameron wanted to cut to the chase. She didn't like the direction of this particular conversation. House thought about that for a moment.

"I'm intrigued, I'll give you that. If you're making it all up, you've gone to great lengths, which means that you're absolutely desperate for my help. That interests me. If you're not making it up, well, then I'm curious to see what else you can come up with." Cameron looked relieved.

"You'll help me figure out what happened to Eva?"

"On my terms, though."

"I can deal with that," Cameron agreed. She'd take whatever he could give her.

The truth was that House was slightly freaked out. It was _possible_ that Cameron had just done an obscene amount of research on the incident that changed his life without knowing that she'd meet him. Sure, that was _possible_, but House knew from experience that just because something was possible didn't mean that it was what happened. In fact, he knew that sometimes the thing that made the least sense ended up making the most sense. So, Allison Cameron and the ability to see dead people? Okay, kind of out there, but how else would she have known what he'd said to his patient? How would she know what he looked like? Did Jeff Eliot tell someone about it before he died? It just didn't make sense, and House hated it when things didn't make sense. Maybe he didn't quite believe Cameron, but he didn't yet _dis_believe her.

He looked over at her, and noted the almost pathetically open, honest look on her face. Maybe she was absolutely insane, but she believed what she was saying, and she believed that he could help her. The curiosity was overwhelming. Well, that, and the equally overwhelming desire to kiss that spot right above her collarbone… House shook his head, trying to forget those thoughts. That sort of complication was the last thing he needed right now.

And yet… she hadn't yet realized that all she needed to do was ask, and he would help her. He was just putting up a front at this point… Even if she was claiming to see dead people. Oh God, this was going to be complicated. House needed time to think before he asked her more questions about her sister, or her past.

"Are you going back to Princeton tonight?" he asked.

"I guess so," she answered. "I mean, Tritter told me I can't go to Eva's apartment yet, so I don't have any place to stay. It's early still; I shouldn't have a problem getting a train."

"I-I'll take you to Penn Station." There was a slight pause, and then she smiled warmly.

"Thanks, House."

* * *

Cameron stood in front of the tracks, facing House. Her train wasn't leaving for another ten minutes, but she wanted to get a seat.

"So, I have your phone number now. I'll call you later in the week when I'm back in the City?" Cameron asked House. He only nodded in response. "I want to thank you for helping me." He didn't even acknowledge that. "Do you believe me?" She needed to know.

"I'm not sure yet," he answered, giving her a searching look. "But I'll help you regardless." Cameron rushed forward and hugged him. She waited until he awkwardly put his arms around her shoulders, and then she let him go.

"You have no idea what this means to me, House." When she looked up at him, her breath hitched. House was gazing at her so intensely that she felt almost uncomfortable, but she held eye contact. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later." Reluctantly, she walked down the line of cars until she found one that was still relatively unpopulated. Right before she stepped inside, she turned to look behind her. House still stood there, watching her. So was Jeff Eliot, though, for the slightest second, his image flickered. For just a second, he'd disappeared... Cameron smiled.

_There's hope for him yet_.


	4. Emily, Part I

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own House.**

**A/N: It's really funny to see all the influences that you guys see in this. I've never seen Ghost Whisperer, but more than one person mentioned it, which is interesting. My favorite mention, though, was Constantine. I never thought about that, but I've certainly seen that movie enough times… I tried to do a little medical research for this chapter, but I am nothing even remotely resembling a doctor. I'm splitting this into two parts, so the next part will be up either later today or tomorrow.  
**

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Cameron approached the entrance to the hospital, clutching her mug of coffee. A wave of relief washed over her as the scalding brew managed to warm her freezing fingers. She took a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from her eyes, but noted rather despondently that it was a futile gesture. Sleep had, for the most part, eluded her. Cuddy had given her time off, but there wasn't much Cameron could do just sitting at home. Eva's funeral wasn't going to be anything extravagant, so there wasn't too much planning to do. If anything, Cameron _needed_ to work more now than any other time in her life. The more time she spent thinking about Eva, the more depressed and frustrated she became.

And then there was House. She couldn't stop thinking about him, however hard she tried not to. She thought about his eyes most of the time—she'd never been struck by a pair of eyes like she had been by House's. Last night, she'd dreamed about him. Cameron had taken her dreams very seriously ever since she was seven and dreamt that her father ran over her beloved cat, Pickles. When she'd told her mother and father about her dream, they smiled and told her everything would be okay, but when her father came home the next day, Cameron's dream became a reality, much to her horror.

Her dream about House was puzzling at best. What she remembered most clearly was that he'd thrown open the door to a room—a room that she was trapped in, she knew—clutching a book to his chest. His limp had been more pronounced than usual as he tried to rush towards her. At that moment, she noticed a shadow, a figure, over his shoulder, and she opened her mouth to scream. It was at that moment that she woke up, covered in sweat and with tears in her eyes. But sometimes her dreams were symbolic instead of realistic, so what she saw wasn't necessarily going to happen in the way she saw it. At least, she was desperately hoping it wouldn't. The sick feeling in her stomach when she saw that shadow told her that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy was standing at the nurse's station, thoroughly confused to see the younger immunologist at work two days after her sister died. "I thought I gave you time off."

"I know, Dr. Cuddy, but I found that sitting at home wasn't really helping. I'd be really grateful if I could just do some work here and there, just to get my mind off of things." She took a sip of coffee and winced as it burned her tongue. Cuddy studied Cameron for a long moment, clearly unsure. On the one hand, Cameron was a good doctor and it was almost never beneficial to have a good doctor not be working. On the other hand, if she was distracted by her sister's death, she could make a mistake, which might end up in a lawsuit. But the doctor who stood before her seemed thoroughly professional, if somewhat tired. Cuddy sighed, and reached for a pile of files. She didn't want Cameron in the clinic until she could be sure she could handle the constant stream of people.

"Here you go. This just came in, and it looks like a pretty clear-cut case—most likely Guillan-Barré. Go tell Solomon that it's your case, and then confirm the diagnosis, set up a treatment plan, etcetera." Cameron smiled at her boss. "And if for _one split second_ you are distracted and do anything to affect patient care, I'm going to kick you out of the hospital and not let you come back for at least a week. Am I perfectly clear?'

"Crystal clear. I really appreciate this, Dr. Cuddy."

"Well, don't make me regret it."

* * *

Cameron looked over the file on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.

"No one ruled out MS," she mused aloud.

"They usually don't." Cameron jumped at the sound of another voice, and looked behind her and to the left. Standing next to her was a doctor she'd never seen before. She was sure she'd have remembered him—he had a strong presence; a presence that told her all she needed to know about this man: he was calm, collected, and completely assured of his intelligence and talent.

"I'm Allison Cameron, Immunology." She held out her hand. The man looked suspicious for a moment, but then reached out and shook her hand.

"Eric Foreman, Neurology."

"Nice to meet you. Want to take a look?" When she offered him the file, he gave her a look that clearly expressed his incredulity. But she seemed surprisingly sincere, so he took the file from her and began to read. "I mean, there does seem to be ascending paralysis, but it's taking too long, isn't it? And the gastrointestinal problems would more likely occur with MS than it would with Guillan-Barré, which is what the patient was admitted for."

"Or else she could have just had some bad chicken last night," Foreman offered, still skeptical of the woman standing next to him. The elevator door opened for Cameron's floor, and the two stood awkwardly for a moment.

"Well, do you want to help, or not?" Cameron asked, holding the door open. Foreman blinked once or twice before responding.

"Why do you want me to help?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. She looked down at the floor for a moment, hesitant. Honestly, Cameron wasn't sure why she was asking Foreman if he wanted to help, but something about this case didn't feel right to her.

"Are you busy, then? Or just suspicious?" She waited for another moment, while Foreman attempted to stare her down. When she made no move to leave, he sighed. The truth was, for Foreman, the Neurology Department was proving to be boring at best. At least if he helped out in Immunology it might be something new.

"All right, I'll help." Foreman wasn't exactly sure why he said yes, other than the fact that at this point his curiosity seemed to be getting the best of him.

"Great. I'm just going to talk to Solomon for a minute. Will you wait outside the office?"

"No problem."

Cameron knocked on Solomon's door, and waited until she heard him yell, "Come in!" before she entered.

"Dr. Solomon, good morning," she greeted. As usual, he was dressed in his perfectly starched shirts, meticulously ironed trousers, and matching ties; his thinning, graying hair had enough gel in it to fill a bathtub.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm surprised to see you. It was my understanding that you would be absent for a few more days." Solomon barely looked up from his paperwork. She smirked when she remember House's reaction when he heard that she worked for such a pretentious, pompous, overbearing, sexist… "What can I do for you, then?"

"Well, Dr. Cuddy said I could take on this case here, but that I should let you know." Solomon took the offered file and briefly glanced it over. When he handed it back to Cameron, she noticed that his eyes seemed to be fixed on her chest, rather than her face. Cameron had given up on wearing anything even remotely low-cut during her second week on the job.

"Looks like Guillan-Barré. Confirm the diagnosis and treat." Cameron knew better than to argue with him, so she murmured her agreement and left the room quietly. The moment she closed the door, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, I've heard that about Solomon," Foreman remarked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I'm going to put my things in my locker, and then how about we get a patient history?" Cameron suggested. Foreman nodded his agreement as she handed him the file. He perused the history, surprised that their eight-year old patient had been in and out of the hospital so many times. But then something caught his attention: the patient's father had died three years ago, and he'd died of what was thought to be primary progressive MS.

"Did you see here that the father died of MS?" Foreman asked when Cameron emerged from the locker room.

"No, I didn't get that far. I was only looking at the symptoms. But a family history of MS would increase her chances of having the same." The two were quickly walking down the hallway towards their patient's room.

"Yeah, but it would only mean she would have about a one percent chance of having MS rather than a point one chance. That the odds are so outrageously not in her favor…Something's off." Cameron turned to Foreman and smiled. He gave her a look. "What?"

"Something _is_ off. I'm just glad you agree with me." They'd finally reached their patient's room, and both doctors took a deep breath before Foreman opened the door and they stepped in.

"Mrs. Harris? I'm Dr. Cameron and this is Dr. Foreman. We're going to be working on Emily's case." They looked at the harried mother and the sickly, scared little girl in the hospital bed. Cameron walked towards the bed, and gave the little girl a warm smile. "Hi Emily, you can call me Allison." Emily gave Cameron a frightened look before offering her a tentative smile. She turned back to talk to the mother, but then her breath left her in a rush. Standing behind the mother was, she assumed, the dead husband, and he did _not _look happy to be there. A wave of hatred and anger hit Cameron like a ton of bricks, and she had to take a few deep breaths before she could continue. Foreman took a step forwards when he noticed the color drain from Cameron's face, but stepped back once she stared to speak again. "We need to ask both of you a few questions about Emily's health, okay?"

"Anything, of course," the mother agreed, dramatically waving a handkerchief.

"When did Emily's muscle weakness first start?" Foreman asked.

"Oh, about two weeks ago, I think."

"And it started in her feet?" Cameron asked.

"Yes, I believe so. Last week it was up to her knees."

"Why did you wait to bring her in?" That was Foreman again, and though most wouldn't pick up on the hint of accusation, Cameron did and she sent him a warning look.

"Well, I couldn't be sure that anything was wrong, but then she started vomiting. Didn't you, baby? She told me that her muscles hurt, and you know, Emily plays soccer, so I just thought that maybe she had overexerted herself." Mrs. Harris had moved to sit on her daughter's bed, and she patted Emily's hand.

"Do you know if there are any pesticides being used in the area around your home, or maybe at Emily's school?" Foreman asked.

"Not that I know of, no," Mrs. Harris answered, her eyes widening slightly.

"Has Emily had any issues with her balance? Any blurry vision?" Cameron was taking notes in the file.

"No, I… Well, I'm not sure. Emily?"

"My tummy hurts," Emily complained in the most pitiful voice that Cameron had ever heard. She frowned, and started to walk to Emily, but was stopped by another wave of emotions from the ghost of the father. He was very protective of Emily, Cameron figured, though she couldn't be sure why quite yet.

"We'll get you some soup, how about that, Emily? Right now, I need to do a test, but I'm going to need your help. You see this?" Foreman pulled out a needle, and Emily nodded, her face contorting slightly in pain. "Now, I'm going to poke you with it, and I need to tell me if you feel it, okay?" Emily nodded again. Foreman slowly moved the blanket away from her feet, and then poked both of her big toes. She shook her head both times. He tried her shins. Again she shook her head. Her knees. No. Thighs. No. "Okay, Can you show me your arms?" He tried both hands, and both doctors breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded.

"I don't feel good. I think I'm going to be sick again," Emily announced, starting to pant. Cameron watched helplessly as Emily's eyes watered; she was held in place by the constant pounding of the father's emotions against her mind. Foreman rushed into action, though, rolling Emily onto her side, and holding out a bucket. A split second later, Emily started to throw up. When Cameron saw a dark look pass Foreman's face, she raised an eyebrow. He waited until Emily finished, though, until he spoke.

"Mrs. Harris, we're going to need to run a few tests on Emily. Dr. Cameron and I will be back soon." He took Cameron's arm and led her outside the room, completely ignoring the questions from Mrs. Harris. Quickly, he ordered a nurse to help clean up Emily's room, and he waited until she left before speaking to Cameron. "There's blood in her vomit."

"Well, she's been sick—it could be esophageal bleeding."

"Yeah, but why has she been sick?"

"If she has MS, then even something like the flu could trigger…"

"Do you really believe that?" Foreman crossed his arms over his chest. Cameron sighed, and ran a hand over her face.

"Not really, no." She paused, uncertain of what to say. "I think there's something suspicious about the father's death."

"Why do you say that?" Foreman asked.

"Call it a gut feeling, but I'd like to get my hands on his medical records."

"Good idea." Cameron and Foreman stood together, both lost in their thoughts. An idea came to Cameron, and her eyes widened.

"Can you talk to the mother, and see if you can figure out more about the father? I…I need to make a quick phone call." She reached into her pocket, and felt for her cell phone.

"Seriously?" Foreman didn't seem happy about the idea.

"Seriously. I'm sorry, Foreman, my sister died two days ago, and I just realized that I…"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'll finish up the history." Cameron felt somewhat guilty about lying to Foreman—though he wasn't very warm and friendly, she could tell he was a good guy—but she couldn't let anyone know who she was going to call.

Cameron wandered out onto the roof, certain that no one would look for her up here. She took out her cell phone and quickly found the number she was looking for. Her heart pounded as the phone rang.

"House." The sound of his voice made her knees weak, and she had to clear her throat before she could say anything.

"House, hi. It's me. It's uh, Allison Cameron. We met…"

"I remember who you are, Cameron," he interrupted, though he sounded amused. His tone put her somewhat at ease.

"I need your help." No need to beat around the bush, right?

"I thought I was already giving you my help." She heard voices from House's side of the call.

"Are you busy?"

"Well, I'm in the middle of a crime scene, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm sorry, but it's somewhat serious."

"What is it?" He sighed, but still sounded interested.

"I have a patient…"

"Whoa, whoa. Stop right there. You're calling me for a _consult_?" He sounded angry, though his voice was still low. Presumably he'd moved away from the police officers so that they could speak privately, but not far enough away so that he wouldn't be heard.

"Please, House, it's…it's a little girl." She held her breath as she waited for him to respond. He sighed loudly.

"Symptoms!" he barked. Quickly, Cameron gave him a rundown of the symptoms, the patient history that she knew, and told him about the discovery of blood in the vomit. "Did you ask about pesticides in the area?"

"Well, Foreman did, and the mother said she wasn't sure."

"Who's Foreman? Never mind. Cameron, the first thing you need to know is: Everybody lies. You and Foreman—whoever the Hell he is—need to get in a car and go down to the house. You need to check for _anything_ that could have caused this symptoms."

"So, you're thinking pesticides?" Cameron pulled her white coat tightly around her body as the wind whipped around her.

"Something like that. You say that the father died with similar symptoms? If that's the case, then I'd bet on something environmental. I don't think that both father and daughter have MS. How's the mother?" She waited for a moment as he spoke to someone.

"Well, I mean, she's upset. Her daughter is sick, and she's a widow…"

"No, Cameron. That's not what I meant. I mean, how _is_ she?"

"You mean…? You can't possibly think…" Even as she tried to deny the possibility that Mrs. Harris could be responsible for Emily's sickness, her mind quickly picked up on a number of things that could very well damn her.

"Cameron, one day I will tell you stories about all the things I've seen, both as a diagnostician and as a medical examiner, and then, maybe, you'll understand. But right now, I need you to answer that question as seriously as possible."

"The father is still around."

"You mean, you _see_ him." House sounded slightly amused, which annoyed Cameron, but she continued on as if he'd been perfectly serious.

"Yes. And he's _not_ happy to be here. He's very protective of Emily; every time we go near her, he sends off these waves of anger and frustration. I can't explain it. But, maybe…Maybe he knows what's happening. Maybe he knows because…Oh God."

"I'd get in that car as soon as possible."

"But, I can't just break into her house. Can I?" She couldn't help but smile as she heard House chuckle.

"Are you asking my permission? You certainly have _my_ permission, though I wouldn't necessarily tell Cuddy about it. Cameron, trust me, just go."

"Thanks House. I-I'll call you later."

"I'll talk to you later then." He hung up without saying another word. At that moment, her beeper went off. Her eyes widened as she recognized a code, and she ran down the stairs as fast as she could.

* * *

"What happened?" she yelled as she ran into Emily's room. Thankfully, the crisis seemed to have passed, and she heard the steady beep of the heart monitor, letting her know that for the moment everything was okay.

"Heart stopped!" Foreman responded. "She needs to be on a ventilator—I think the paralysis is ascending. She's having trouble swallowing. We're going to move her to intensive care." Cameron nodded, and reached for the other side of the bed as Foreman started to roll the bed out of the room. Foreman gave her an annoyed look.

"How'd your phone call go?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Cameron answered without thinking. When Foreman's eyes narrowed, Cameron realized that she was going to have to explain a thing or two. Thankfully, though, he seemed willing to drop it. In silence they both moved Emily to the ICU, thankful that the hysterical mother had been forced to leave during the code. When they got to the ICU, they were greeted by a blonde, handsome doctor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Chase. I'm the intensivist on duty today."

"I'm Dr. Cameron and this is Dr. Foreman. This is Emily Harris." Though Foreman barely looked at Dr. Chase, Cameron flashed him a smile and handed him Emily's chart. Chase looked it over, his frown deepening as time passed.

"Huh," he said.

"Brilliant observation," Foreman mumbled. Chase pretended that he hadn't heard him. "We're going to need to run tests, but…"

"Actually, Dr. Foreman, can I speak to you for a moment?" Cameron nodded her head toward the other side of the room, where there were no patients or doctors. Foreman rolled his eyes, but followed her.

"I think we need to go to the patient's house," Cameron announced.

"What?"

"We need to check for any possible environmental factors."

"Like pesticides?"

"Sure, or maybe something else." Cameron paused as she debated something. "I think the mother is poisoning Emily, and I think that she already poisoned her husband. I think we're dealing with Munchausen's by proxy." To Foreman's credit, he didn't look surprised or shocked when she confessed her suspicions. Instead he sighed.

"I was afraid of that. Do you have the address? I'll drive." Cameron blinked, somewhat surprised that Foreman so readily agreed to illegally break into someone's home.

"Wait, you guys are going to break into that kid's house?" Both Foreman and Cameron turned to Chase with a guilty look, each expecting him to tattle on them. "Can I come?"


	5. Emily, Part II

**Disclaimer: Don't own House.**

**A/N: I, too, am happy to have to old team back together again. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and the last one, actually… **

* * *

The three doctors were sitting in silence in Foreman's Camry. Chase sat in the back, tapping his fingers against the seat; Cameron sat in the front, keeping an eye out for the right street. Ever since Foreman and Cameron had agreed to let Chase come along, the trio had not spoken—no one seemed to know what to say, as if all three were unsure why they had suddenly come together. Foreman cleared his throat.

"So, Cameron, you told me you'd explain about the phone call you just _had_ to make. I think we've got some time right now," Foreman said, raising one eyebrow. She could hear Chase sit up a bit straighter in his seat.

"It's complicated. I can't really tell you about it, I'm sorry," she replied, nervously wringing her hands.

"Well, obviously you asked for help with the case. So, who do you do you know who could possibly diagnose a patient?" Somehow Foreman appeared all the more intimidating when he _wasn't_ looking at her.

"Well, it certainly wasn't Matthews; he's an idiot," Chase remarked. Matthews was Head of Diagnostics at Princeton Plainsboro, and neither Foreman nor Cameron could deny that he wasn't he most useful doctor on staff. "Man, I would have killed to work under Dr. House when he was still around. I've heard so many amazing stories."

"He sounds like a complete jerk, if you ask me," Foreman countered. "It couldn't have been easy working for him." Chase leaned forward so he could speak directly to Foreman.

"But can you imagine the cases? And did you hear about all the crazy shit he used to pull? Lying to patients, performing tests without permission, harassment…"

"Breaking and entering," Foreman finished, shooting a glance at Cameron. She flushed, but kept her gaze firmly out the window. Chase's jaw dropped as he watched Cameron's awkward reaction.

"Okay, Cameron, you don't have to tell us what the phone call was about, as long as you answer this one question: Did you find _the _Gregory House?" Chase sounded both flabbergasted and awed at the same time. His eyes were wide as he continued to watch Cameron. When she flushed deeply, he pointed an accusing finger at her, but was apparently unable to speak from sheer excitement.

"Guys, you have to understand, if it _was_ House, he wouldn't want _anyone_ to know that it was him. Get it?" She gave them both stern looks, letting them know exactly what they needed to know: yes, it was House, and no, she wasn't going to tell them much more than that.

"Jesus Christ," Chase exclaimed, leaning back in his seat. "I can't believe it. Well, can you at least tell us what he said about the case we're working on?"

"The breaking and entering bit was his suggestion, and he did voice some suspicions about the mother," Cameron answered after a slight hesitation. She wondered if she was betraying House's trust by telling Chase and Foreman about him, but instinctively she believed that they would keep it a secret.

"How would he know about the mother?" Chase was completely enthralled by the idea of House. _Little does he know_, Cameron thought, smiling.

"Experience, I guess. He said, 'Everybody lies.' Apparently that translates into, 'Mothers want to hurt their children for attention.'" It didn't make sense to Cameron, but she supposed in many ways that that was a good thing.

"Unfortunately, I might have to agree with House on this one," Foreman said. "Mrs. Harris really gave me the creeps."

"Oh! Here's our street!" Cameron exclaimed, pointing to the left. For the moment, all discussion about House was forgotten, as all three began to concentrate on the task at hand. They looked up and down the street, relieved to see that no one was out and about. In fact, it was a scarily quiet residential neighborhood. The Harris home looked every inch like the perfect American home: white picket fence, children's toys in the front yard, a homemade wind chime clanging near the front door. No one would guess what was really going on inside…

"I don't suppose either of you know how to break into a house, do you?" Chase asked as they approached the front door. Foreman didn't answer, but simply tried the door. Unfortunately it didn't open.

"Look under the mat or under these plants for a spare key," Foreman instructed. Cameron and Chase quickly looked around, but found nothing. Sighing, Foreman pulled out his wallet. "I _really_ didn't want to have to do this," he mumbled. Then, like an expert, he took his credit card and unlocked the door.

"Where did you learn that?" Chase asked, amazed as the front door swung open. "I mean, can you teach me? I've always wanted to know how to do that…" Foreman rolled his eyes, and almost didn't answer, but, for some reason, he trusted these two.

"I stole a car once. When I was younger. Well, I was _caught_ once. I know how to do… these sorts of things," he confessed. Cameron and Chase simply nodded, neither finding it a big deal. "Well, I'll take the kitchen. Chase, do you want to take the bathrooms? Cameron, you should try the bedrooms." No one seemed to mind that Foreman was the acting leader. "Oh, I forgot. Take these," he said, handing them pairs of medical gloves. Cameron and Chase nodded, and the group dispersed.

Cameron slowly made her way up the stairs, taking note of the many family pictures on the wall. It was so screwed up; they all seemed so happy, and yet… She realized that the husband had been a much happier person in life. He was smiling in every picture, especially those with Emily. For a moment she lingered on one of father and daughter at the playground. Emily was laughing as he pushed her on the swing. Once tears started to burn her eyes, Cameron turned away and ran up the rest of the stairs as she pulled on the medical gloves. When she reached the top, she looked to the left and saw two doors. Then she looked to the right. She let out a small shriek, and jumped back, knocking down a picture in the process.

"Cameron? Are you okay?" Chase called out.

"I-I-I'm fine!" she managed to choke out. Standing in front of her was the husband. He'd followed her; that had never happened before. Somehow, she understood that everything was now in her hands—she could settle things for him. He nodded towards the door in front of him. Hesitantly, Cameron walked down the hallway and reached for the doorknob. She took a deep breath, and turned the knob.

It was Mrs. Harris' bedroom. Cameron was immediately reminded of Martha Stewart, which she didn't necessarily think of as a good thing. Everything was perfectly matched and decorated; it was clean and tasteful. It also completely lacked character. On almost every surface were pictures of Emily and the husband. She turned around, and saw the husband still standing in the threshold. He paused for a moment, but then strode into the room with a definite purpose. Slowly, he pointed to his wife's bedside table. Cameron rushed over and pulled open the drawer. At first she didn't see anything, but as she reached towards the back, her fingers grazed a bottle. Her heart pounded as she grabbed it and pulled it out from its hiding place.

Arsenic. She'd poisoned her husband and daughter with arsenic. Emily's symptoms fit perfectly with arsenic poisoning, and so did Mr. Harris'.

"Thank you," Cameron whispered to the husband. He nodded once. "Hey, guys!" she called out, rushing down the stairs. "I think I've got it!"

"Good, because I wasn't finding anything," Chase grumbled, emerging from the downstairs bathroom.

"What is it?" Foreman asked.

"Arsenic."

"Shit," Foreman swore. "We need to get back to the hospital."

"I-I should put this back, right? The police will need to search the house, and they can't know we've been here, right?" Cameron started to babble.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, Cam," Chase agreed, his voice calm and soothing. "Want me to come with you?"

"Thanks, Chase," Cameron said, sighing. Five minutes later, the group gathered back in the front hall, ready to go. Foreman shut the door behind them.

"Does anyone know off the top of their heads how to test for arsenic poisoning?" Chase asked. Foreman and Cameron shrugged. "Hey, Cam, do you think…?" Cameron rolled her eyes as she realized what he was asking. She waited until they were back in the car and off of the street until she answered his question.

"I'll call him." This time it was a little easier to dial his number.

"How'd it go?" House sounded somewhat breathless.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just had to get out of somewhere before I could answer. What'd you find?" He was definitely impatient to hear what had happened at the Harris household.

"We found arsenic. How do you test for arsenic poisoning?" Cameron snuck a peek at Foreman, who was playing it cool while she talked to the world's most famous (and perhaps most disgraced) diagnostician. On the other hand, Chase was practically salivating.

"Arsenic, eh? It's only funny in Cary Grant movies. You need to test her hair, and you'll need to treat with either Dimercaprol or Succimer." There was a pause. "Are you okay?" He was whispering, as if he was afraid of being heard. Cameron smiled, happy that he would take the time to ask her that.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I think. I mean, Foreman and Chase are with me, so, you know, I'm not alone."

"Foreman _and_ Chase? So, do they both know who you're talking to?" His tone was surprisingly calm, which did not seem to make her feel any easier. She grimaced as she replied.

"Yes?"

"Wait, did you say 'Chase?' I wonder… Let me talk to him for a sec." If Cameron thought his request was bizarre, she didn't mention it, and instead she just passed the phone to Chase.

"Uh, hello? Yes, I'm Robert Chase. Uh, yeah. Yeah, he is. No, I wouldn't…" There was a long pause. "I understand completely, Dr. House. Yeah. Okay. Here's Cameron."

"Hello?" She was dying of curiosity, but she wouldn't ask what had just happened.

"All right, you've got everything you need, then?"

"I think so, thanks." It was surprising how much she wanted to keep talking to him, even though she could tell he wanted to get off of the phone.

"Well, I'll see you later then."

"Right. See you later." When both Foreman and Chase heard that, they turned to stare at her. Talking to House on the phone was one thing, but _seeing_ him? Cameron was _seeing _House? Oh, they would definitely have a few questions for her.

"Oh, and Cameron? Tell this Foreman character that his pesticides idea was close, but no gold star for him."

"I will, House. Bye." There was a pause before he hung up the phone. "Foreman, House says that your pesticides idea was close, but no gold star for you." Foreman rolled his eyes. "Actually, I think that may have been a compliment, coming from him."

"Wait, so you what,_hang out_ with House?" Chase asked.

"No. Well, sort of. No, not really. It's a long story that we don't have time to go over right now. Right now we need to concentrate on Emily and her sick mother." That thought put a damper on all of their moods, and Foreman stepped on the gas.

* * *

When they arrived back at the hospital, Foreman ran to run the redundant test, and Chase ran to the ICU, ready to start treatment the moment the positive test results came back. All three knew that they had done something illegal, and that even though they were right, they needed to cover their tracks. Everything had to be in line—Chase couldn't start the treatment for arsenic poisoning before they had officially diagnosed it. Cameron had to go to Cuddy and let her know of their suspicions.

"Dr. Cuddy?" Cameron had pushed open the Dean of Medicine's door once her assistant had let Cameron know it was okay to go in.

"Dr. Cameron, what can I help you with?" Cuddy looked up from her paperwork, her tone letting Cameron know that only for something important would she get her full attention.

"It's about the patient you gave me this morning. She doesn't have Guillan-Barré. In fact, we suspect that she may have arsenic poisoning, and we think that her mother may have… We think that her mother may have Munchausen's by proxy." That got Cuddy's attention. "We need to call the police, as well as social services."

"Ho-how did you come up with arsenic poisoning?"

"Well, the symptoms fit," Cameron explained, knowing that that wouldn't be enough. She began wringing her hands once more.

"Did you run any tests?" Cuddy put down her pen.

"Um, we're running a hair follicle…"

"No, what tests did you do to rule out Guillan-Barré?" Cuddy stood up, her eyes narrowing. Cameron figured that years of dealing with House had probably made her suspicious of such diagnoses.

"Actually, that's a funny question. We didn't run any tests because the symptoms ruled out Guillan-Barré as well as MS, and considering that Emily's father died of similar symptoms, we wondered if it could have been something environmental. But, Mrs. Harris wasn't sick, which was suspicious, and we realized that Emily had been in and out of the hospital for years, so it wasn't too far a reach to…"

"Wait, who's 'we?'" Cuddy interrupted, holding up a hand.

"Uh, well, me, Dr. Foreman, and Dr. Chase."

"Foreman from Neurology and Chase from the ICU?" Cuddy's tone was suspicious. "How did you three end up together?"

"Well, that's a bit of a long story. I met Foreman in the elevator today, and I showed him the file, and _he_ said…" Cuddy held up her hand again to stop Cameron from continuing. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Cameron's beeper went off. "Emily's hair shows a positive result for chronic arsenic poisoning. Will you please call the police, Dr. Cuddy?" Cuddy put her hands on her hips and stared at Cameron.

"All right. But I want you, Foreman, and Chase in my office in half an hour."

"Okay." Cameron took her leave of the suspicious Dean, praying that nothing would go wrong.

* * *

The police had come quickly and had arrested Mrs. Harris. It had helped Cameron, Foreman, and Chase that she'd had a bottle of arsenic on her when the police had searched her. Apparently she'd been planning to keep Emily in the hospital for a while. Emily already seemed to be improving, which was a weight off of everyone's shoulders. But they still had to meet with Cuddy.

Foreman entered Cuddy's office first, followed by Cameron, and then Chase. All three were surprised to see James Wilson seated on Cuddy's couch, and were even more surprised to see that he had no intention of leaving their interrogation. Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her desk.

"So, you three did a good job today. You saved a life, and solved not one but two mysteries. Emily will be okay, and Edward Harris can finally rest in peace." Cameron resisted the urge to snort. _She has no idea_. "But, I have to admit that I am curious about a few things. First off, I'm wondering how you three ended up working together. Secondly, I'd like to know how you came up with arsenic poisoning." Cuddy lifted an eyebrow, waiting for them to either defend or explain themselves.

"Well, Dr. Cameron and I met in the elevator today, and she showed me Emily's file. Both of us agreed that something was fishy; the symptoms didn't seem to fit Guillan-Barré, and MS, while plausible, wouldn't necessarily be easy to diagnose. Emily coded, and we had to bring her to the ICU, where we met Dr. Chase, who also agreed that something wasn't right." Foreman glanced at both Cameron and Chase, who both nodded their heads in agreement.

"What I'm hearing right now is this: all three of you acted on a 'gut feeling' that something was wrong," Cuddy said, somewhat sarcastic.

"That'd be correct," Chase replied.

"Right. Okay, and how did we get to arsenic poisoning?" When all three hesitated, she made a face. "Well? I'm waiting."

"The symptoms fit," Chase explained, shrugging. "To accurately diagnose Guillan-Barré or MS, you would need to rule out other possibilities. Any differential diagnosis would include arsenic poisoning."

"Do you know much about diagnostics, Dr. Chase?" That was Wilson. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at the oncologist. He seemed, for the most part, calm, but he couldn't stop rubbing together the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

"No, not much. But enough."

"Why did you assume Munchausen's by proxy?" Cuddy asked the question to the trio, but she had her eyes on Wilson. The two suspected something, and Cameron had a sinking feeling in her stomach that it might have something to do with House. Before she could stop him, Chase replied.

"Everybody lies." Wilson and Cuddy's jaws dropped as they both heard a phrase that they hadn't heard in years. Too late, Chase realized what he had done. "I mean, that's something that my father told me once."

"Dr. Cameron? Dr. Foreman? What do you have to say?" Cuddy managed to find her voice. Cameron sighed. There was no way she could ever tell her the truth, be it "Well, House thought it might be the mom," or "Edward Harris' ghost was haunting Mrs. Harris, and that seemed to indicate foul play."

"Everybody lies," Cameron repeated.

"Everybody lies," Foreman said, shrugging. Cuddy and Wilson were simply speechless. There was a long silence, and Cameron couldn't help but fidget. Chase looked down at the floor, almost expecting punishment. Foreman was, not surprisingly, the most calm out of the whole bunch.

"Guys," Wilson started, his eyes wide. "Listen, I need to know where you heard that. It's important." Cameron felt sorry for him; she could hear the desperation and hope in his voice. But she also couldn't tell him about House, and she knew that neither Foreman nor Chase would tell him. When they all stayed silent, Wilson threw his hands up in the air. "What do you guys know? You have to tell me."

"We don't know anything," Chase replied. Foreman nodded his agreement, and Cameron frowned. She was a terrible liar, so she hoped that he wouldn't ask her a direct question.

"You were seen leaving the hospital. All three of you. Together. Where did you go?" Wilson wasn't going to let it drop.

"We broke into their house," Cameron answered. Maybe this way, Wilson and Cuddy might believe that they had come up with the arsenic poisoning idea on their own. "Chase is right—we needed to rule out any other possibilities, so we went to their house to check for any pesticides, or any other possible environmental factors. During our search we found a hidden bottle of arsenic in the bedroom. I'm sorry we didn't tell you right away, but we just didn't want to get in trouble for breaking in." Foreman and Chase, thankfully, understood her tactic and stayed silent. Wilson and Cuddy looked at each other, trying to decide what to believe.

"Have you been breaking into patient's houses often, Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy asked. There was no missing the condescension in her tone.

"N-no. This is the first time, I swear."

"And the last, I hope," she finished dryly. "Where did you get the idea to break in to the Harris' house?"

"Well, it seemed like a logical step: we needed to know what was in the house that could possibly be harming Emily. So, we just...went into the house."

"Uh huh." Cuddy was still skeptical. "I'm going to ask you not to apply that sort of logic in the future, if you don't mind."

"No problem."

"Absolutely."

"Right."

Wilson and Cuddy tried to stare down the three doctors one last time.

"It's really a pity, guys. In another world you would have made fantastic Diagnostics fellows. As it is, I'm afraid…" Cuddy went to sit behind her desk once more.

"Well, why not?" Chase interrupted. "We all know that Matthews barely does a thing. How about you let the three of us be a team? We can work together, I think we've proven that much today. And we can work together to get positive results."

"I'll think about it," Cuddy offered. Chase kept going, however.

"I mean, we'll never be like _House_, but…" he trailed off as everyone turned to look at him—two were angry with him, and two were curious.

"No, I don't imagine you would be, but I'll think about it. Now get out of here before I change my mind and decide to suspend you all." Foreman, Chase, and Cameron all breathed a collective sigh of relief, and left the room. As the door shut, Cuddy and Wilson shared a look.

"You don't think…"

"Yeah, I do," Wilson answered, staring at the three doctors standing outside the door. "I just need to figure out _how_."

* * *

"Wow, Chase, you're a really smooth…"

"Oh, come on, Foreman," Chase interrupted. "It's not as if it would be out of the ordinary for someone to have heard about House."

"He's right, Foreman," Cameron interjected. The trio stood near the clinic, each unsure what to say about their adventure.

"That was really thrilling," Chase offered. "I mean, I've never had so much _fun_ practicing medicine before."

"Me neither," Cameron said, sighing.

"Me neither," Foreman grumbled.

"How about this, then: if Cuddy doesn't let us run our own diagnostics team, we'll keep an eye out for cases that we can work on together. How does that sound?" Chase suggested.

"I can do that," Cameron agreed. Foreman nodded.

"Well, it's settled then. Officially or not, we're a team." Cameron smiled as Foreman rolled his eyes.

"You're not going to make us do 'all for one and one for all' are you?" As Chase and Cameron laughed, Foreman couldn't help but crack a smile. In that moment, Cameron knew that they _were_ a team. She just wondered what would happen with House, with Eva, with Foreman, with Chase, with Cuddy, or with Wilson. At the moment her life was complicated, but maybe, just maybe, she'd met some people who would help her. She already had House on her side, and now, it seemed, Foreman and Chase. _Things may be looking up_.


	6. The Funeral

**Disclaimer: I don't own House.**

**A/N: Wow, so it's been two months since I've updated. Sorry about that—I'm afraid writer's block is not so much fun. Though, honestly, half of this has been sitting around my computer for a while… Review, please! **

* * *

Cameron planned a simple funeral for Eva. Neither of the two sisters was religious, so Cameron had organized a small memorial service in New York, in a funeral home near where Eva had lived for the past few years. Eva had liked her little neighborhood. But now, looking at the small group of people gathered, Cameron wished that she'd planned something a bit more spectacular. This motley crew of distant cousins, lost high school friends, a few curious neighbors and, well, Foreman, Chase, and House didn't really seem to say much for Eva's memory. That depressed Cameron somewhat.

Foreman and Chase, when they'd finally heard some of the details surrounding Eva's death—though obviously not all of them—had insisted on accompanying her to the funeral. They'd all put in some work at the hospital that morning, and then they'd all driven into the city together, looking somber in their black attire. Foreman's calm presence and Chase's pathological willingness to help boosted Cameron's mood somewhat. But when she saw House—even sporting a tie for the occasion—she broke out into a huge grin and ran forward to greet him. When she'd left an awkward voicemail on his cell phone, telling him the time and place of the service, she hadn't actually expected him to come. But here he was.

"I'm glad you came, House." He looked down at his shoes for a moment, before looking up once more and catching the glances of the curious and protective Chase and Foreman.

"Are those two Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?" House nodded towards the two men, but avoided looking at them. In fact, he was avoiding looking at anyone. Cameron grabbed his arm.

"House, what is it?"

"You didn't tell anyone else in Princeton about this, did you?"

"No, House, no. You and these two are the only ones I talked to about it, really. No worries." They both looked at her hand, which was still on his arm. She blushed and took it away, earning a long look from House. "I'm glad you came," she repeated, looking up to meet his gaze. He only nodded in response. "How about I introduce you to the boys? They've been dying to meet you, I think."

"Sounds good." They walked together towards Chase and Foreman. Chase looked as if Christmas had come early.

"Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, I'd like to introduce you to Gregory House. House is the medical examiner working on my sister's case." The men shook hands before turning to Cameron once more, clearly expecting her to make things less awkward. She rolled her eyes, but tried to usher them to their seats. After a moment of silence during which Cameron checked her watch to note that they still had ten minutes before the service started, she decided to break the tension.

"Did you know, House, that Cuddy might give us three positions in Diagnostics because of our case the other day?" Cameron asked as she sat down. Almost no one noticed how she'd managed to seat the men so that she was sitting next to House. _Almost _no one.

"The downside is, of course, that we might have to deal with Matthews," Chase grumbled.

"She picked _Matthews_ to replace me? What a…"

"We know," Foreman interrupted. "We _know_."

"Well, good luck with that. You'd be better off asking the janitor for help." Not only did House sound grumpy, but he continuously looked behind him to check for, Cameron assumed, either Cuddy or Wilson.

"House, stop it," Cameron ordered. To both Foreman and Chase's surprise, he did. He sighed and looked forward, but did continue to tap his cane against the floor. When he snuck a glance at Cameron, he saw her smirking.

"Cameron, I swear…" To the surprise of all three men, she burst out laughing. She continued to laugh until tears were streaming down her cheeks, and soon the laughter turned into choking sobs. The three men looked on with discomfiture. Unconsciously, Cameron seemed to lean towards House, her hair brushing his arm, but it took a long minute before he placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Cameron seemed to relax under his touch, and she scooted a little bit closer to him. House was capable of recognizing what she needed, and he finally gave in to the urge he'd first felt in the morgue. He lifted his arm, and allowed her to place her head against his chest.

He felt awkward as all Hell. After sending a glare in the direction of the curious Chase and Foreman, House tried to relax. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of Cameron's shampoo. As she continued to hiccup slightly, House lowered his head and let his lips graze the top of her head. For a brief second, he didn't care who saw him.

So it was at that moment that James Wilson appeared. After the trio of doctors had solved Emily Harris' case, Wilson had been somewhat obsessed. He'd spent as much time as possible researching the three doctors involved, searching for any connection they may have had with House. He'd been convinced that at least one of them knew him. So, when he'd googled Cameron and found notice of her dead sister, he'd decided to come to the funeral. If House knew Cameron personally, then he would surely be there, right?

And it took his breath away to see House and Cameron in such a tender embrace. Wilson couldn't be sure if it was something romantic—though he'd honestly never really known House to express any public affection. But there was something there, and it killed him that Cameron had never told him about it.

Greg House, his best friend, was in the same room as him for the first time in years, and Wilson didn't think he could take another step forward. His feet were glued to the floor as he watched House. God, he'd missed him. He'd missed the glares that he was now shooting at Chase and Foreman; he'd missed the occasional gentle light in his eyes that now appeared as he looked down at Cameron. Why had House disappeared? Why did he leave without a word? Wilson felt years of anger return in a flash, and he had to stop himself from marching up to his friend and delivering a well-deserved punch.

No, he couldn't do this here. He couldn't do this now. He knew what he needed to know for the moment—House was alive, well, and could be contacted through Allison Cameron.

* * *

A few hours later, House, Cameron, Foreman, and Chase were back in Eva's apartment. Once Cameron had expressed the desire to stay in the City so that she could begin to pack up her sister's apartment, all three men had volunteered to help. Well, House so much hadn't volunteered as he'd simply told Cameron that she was walking with him.

During the short walk back to Eva's apartment, House had interrogated Cameron about Chase and Foreman. The other two men had wisely hung back, though one look at Chase's face would tell anyone what he thought of that particular plan. But once they'd arrived at the apartment, House had seemed more willing to talk to Chase and Foreman.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold on there! Where do you think you're going?" House asked Chase.

"The bedroom, why?"

"What, so you can look at a dead woman's underwear drawer? I don't think so. You can grab a box and start packing up the books in the living room." Chase stood still for a few moments, clearly disbelieving. Foreman patted his back sympathetically before stepping into the kitchen to begin packing up glasses and utensils. Cameron had already disappeared into the bedroom, and House quietly slipped in, closing the door behind him.

"House," she greeted, sniffling. Apparently she'd still not finished with her crying for the day, House noted somewhat grimly. He sat down beside her on the bed, but said nothing. "It's just not fair."

"It's never fair, Cameron. Never."

"I know, I know. It's just… There was so much I never said, so much we never got to do. I'm just not ready to let her go. I d-don't w-want to be al-lone." She burst into tears once more. Frustrated, she fell back on the bed. House turned to look at her, surprised by the way his body responded to the sight of her dark hair against the light sheets. He sighed loudly before lying down beside her. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"What?"

"Why are you here?" She articulated each word clearly and deliberately.

"Because…you asked for my help."

"That's all?" Again, he knew what she needed from him; he just wasn't sure if he could give it to her. She turned to look at him, and House couldn't help but turn his head to the side and catch her intense gaze. He watched as she shivered slightly.

"I don't even know you," he said, though Cameron couldn't be sure if he was telling_her_ that, or if he was trying to convince himself of something. In response, Cameron reached out and placed her hand lightly against his arm. House closed his eyes, secretly enjoying being touched. "Cameron, I…"

"It's okay, you don't need to say anything," she interrupted, sitting up. She scooted over to House, and put a hand on the other side of his body, her arm brushing against his waist. Slowly, she leaned down towards him, her intention unmistakable. When her hair fell in front of her face, House reached out and tucked it behind her ear. But instead of taking his hand back, he found himself cupping her cheek, silently urging her towards him. House tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. At that simple gesture Cameron had to smile. Then she brought her lips down softly upon his.

House wasn't sure why he was letting this happen. It was a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad. There was no way this could end up… Aw, Hell. She tasted so good. His tongue slipped into her welcoming mouth, and his hand slipped under her shirt. Somehow, he soon managed it so that they switched positions, and now Cameron was on her back, while House's body lightly pressed against hers. He cupped her breast with one hand, his thumb rubbing her nipple through the lacy fabric of her bra, while he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses to her neck. She threw her head back, arching to give him easier access.

"Oh, God," she whispered as he lightly bit her neck. Cameron brought her hands to his head and ran her fingers through his thinning hair, urging him on. "Oh, God," she repeated, squirming as he continued his ministrations. The dangerous feel of his teeth against her jugular was driving her mad. House smiled against her neck, clearly pleased with himself. But his warm breath against her sensitive skin only excited her more, and she forcefully brought his face up to hers and kissed him once more. When House groaned loudly, they both became more frenzied. Cameron tried to ignore the pain she felt as his beard scratched her chin. Instead, she easily divested him of his jacket, and she let her hands wander along the hard planes of his back, her nails digging into the fabric until he cried out. She desperately wanted to feel his skin; to taste it. Instinctively, House seemed to understand what they both needed, and he began to untuck his shirt. An impatient Cameron snuck her hand underneath the rustling fabric, letting her fingers dip below the band of his boxers. Her breath caught in her throat when House moaned, a sound that rumbled throughout his chest.

And that was the moment in which Robert Chase became scarred for life.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry. Oh my God. I'll just, uh, close the door." House, without a second thought, had moved to shield Cameron's body from view the moment the door had opened—even though, technically, she'd been wearing more clothes.

"CHASE!" he yelled. "GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!"

"Why?" Cameron whispered, clutching his shirt. "We won't be able to…" she trailed off, and placed a light kiss on his Adam's apple. House groaned in both frustration and desire.

"Uh, are you sure?" Chase asked through the door.

"NOW!" Chase opened the door with alacrity. "What the Hell did you want?" House's voice had dropped dangerously low.

"I found a book, and I didn't really know what it was. It almost looks like some sort of diary, though it's a little weird."

"You read my sister's diary?" Cameron shot Chase a harsh look from over House's shoulder.

"No! I mean, yes, sort of. There was no title, so I just opened it to see what it was." There was a long pause as he continued to stare at the entwined couple.

"Is there anything else?" House growled.

"I'll just leave the book here on the dresser. You two… can come, uh, talk to us later. Or whatever. You know, whatever you want." Chase shut the door quickly behind him. Cameron and House turned to look at each other, both smiling despite their embarrassment and frustration.

"Well, that was certainly a mood killer," House grumbled, placing a lingering kiss on Cameron's forehead. She hummed appreciatively.

"Not totally," she disagreed. "They definitely won't bother us now." House couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"As much as it kills me to say otherwise, I think we should probably wait for a bit more privacy."

"You might change your mind by then," Cameron whined. House thought about that for a moment. While he realized there were a great many things about Allison Cameron that he didn't know, and many more that he was uncertain about, the one thing that he _did_ know, somehow, was he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of her. Especially not after today. He'd just have to work out the rest as they went along. It wasn't as if he was going to fall in love with her, anyway. He was done with that crap—Stacy had made sure of it. But he'd be content with Cameron in his arms.

"Let's go look at the book," he said, not bothering to respond to her fears verbally. Instead, he squeezed her hand once.

Cameron didn't bother to sit up as House went to retrieve the book from the dresser. She just wanted to watch House—she loved the way he moved, even with the limp. When he caught her gaze, he smirked. Blushing, Cameron held out her hand.

"Give it here," she commanded. Surprisingly House passed it over without comment. After flipping through the first few pages, Cameron frowned. Her frown only grew as she continued to read.

"What is it?" House asked, leaning forward to get a glimpse.

"It's a Book of Shadows," Cameron replied, not sounding too happy about it.

"What's that?"

"A spell book, of sorts. Basically, it's everything Eva did with magick—spells, meditation, dreams…" Cameron trailed off. "She apparently hooked up with a coven of witches in town. Long ago we'd both agreed that it'd be best to keep our abilities to ourselves."

"This just gets better and better," House groaned. "Witches? You really can't be serious."

"Deadly serious. But it's a lead, House. We can try to find some of the coven members, and see what sorts of things Eva was up to. I can probably figure out a whole bunch of stuff from this," she said, holding up the book, "But maybe she told someone something—something she wouldn't dare write down."

"You're…you're…you believe all of this." It was a statement, albeit an incredulous one.

"I thought I'd been pretty clear on that front," Cameron responded dryly. She shut the book with a loud clap and turned to look at House. "We won't be able to work with each other if you're going to doubt me at every turn." She looked up and immediately frowned. "You don't believe me."

"You can get that from looking at the dresser?"

"No, Jeff Eliot returned. He wasn't here all of today. Hi Jeff, welcome to House's House of Denial," she grumbled. House didn't bother to respond, so she turned to face him. But her eyes fixed on something on the opposite side of the room, and the color drained from her face. "No," she whispered. "No."

"What is it?" House asked, grabbing her shoulders.

"Please believe me, House, please," she pleaded.

"What is it?" he repeated, shaking her softly.

"My husband. He won't leave me alone! Matthew! Why won't you go?" Then she stilled, nodding as if listening to someone speak. After a moment, she turned to look into House's eyes, and he was shaken by the pain that he saw there. "We need to find out who killed Eva, House."

"I know," he responded softly, as if speaking to a child.

"No, you don't," she disagreed, sighing. "We're in trouble."

"Is that why your husband is still here?"

"No." For a moment it appeared as if she would leave it at that. "He's here because of a stupid vow I made almost ten years ago."

"What was that?"

"I vowed never to love anyone again. Stupid, isn't it? It's the kind of vow only a twenty-one year old could make. I never wanted to forget him, and look what I get stuck with? His ghost. So now he can pop up at the most inconvenient times and remind me of how unbelievably stupid I was. See, the problem is that a vow like that applies to so many different things. By making that vow, I also destroyed the relationships I had with the people I _already_ loved."

"Eva," House answered for her. She nodded.

"Exactly. Our relationship was never the same after Matt died. He won't leave me alone until I set things right—for Eva and for myself."

"And he just told you that?" House asked, clearly not believing he was asking that question.

"Sort of," Cameron responded. "Ghosts don't really talk. But they have a way of making sure you know what they're thinking. Matthew's been a ghost for a while now, so he's pretty good at it," she elaborated, failing to keep the sardonic edge out of her tone. "But he's never been so clear before. I'm guessing he wants to get out of here as much as I want him out of here, and we might finally get our chance."

House opened his mouth to respond, but then they heard the doorbell ring. They shot each other a nervous glance before standing up.

"Uh, Cameron? There's somebody here to see you!" Chase called from the living room. Cameron took a deep breath before opening the bedroom door. When she and House entered the living room, Cameron was somewhat surprised to realize that she had no idea who this person was—she certainly hadn't been at the funeral.

"Are you Eva's sister?" the woman asked.

"Uh, yes, I am." The woman's eyes wandered to the book that Cameron clutched to her chest.

"Is that her Book?" The woman queried, lifting an eyebrow. Cameron's eyes narrowed, and she did something she hadn't done in years—she tried to read the woman's mind. At first glance, it was obvious to someone with Cameron's gifts that the woman was magickally powerful, and naturally so. The woman looked taken aback as she felt the touch of Cameron's mind.

"You certainly are Eva's sister—I've only felt power like that once before. It appears I was mistaken."

"About what?" House asked, unable to keep from butting in.

"I thought I would have to protect you. But now it seems that you may have to protect_me_."


End file.
